


Death Doesn't Discriminate

by koalaboy



Series: Bruce & Jason [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, The Demon (DCU Comics)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Multi, Other, Vomiting, its That Night (tm), yeah martha and thomas and jason were in a poly relationship fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaboy/pseuds/koalaboy
Summary: There was never anything special about the nights people died. They just died. That was something Jason had learnt with the many, many people he had lost over the years. Those he could remember, anyway. Losing the Wayne's was not something any Gotham citizen saw coming, nor did Jason Blood.





	Death Doesn't Discriminate

There was nothing special about the night, nor the cool air that made Jason pull the sleeves of his coat down around his wrists. There was never anything special about the nights people died. They just died. That was something Jason had learnt with the many, many people he had lost over the years. Those he could remember, anyway.

The three emerge from the theatre, trailing behind an energetic Bruce, who had already decided that he was too old to hold his mother’s hand (but not too old to avoid the cracks between pavement, Jason notes, watching as he skips over them).

“How did you find the film, Jason?” Thomas asks. He looks every part the billionaire he is, save for the smell of movie theatre popcorn radiating from him.

“A bit violent for my taste,” Jason remarks, a playful and knowing smile on his lips, “But I’m glad Bruce enjoyed it.”

“He’ll be requesting we see it again before we get home,” Martha laughs, giggling to herself as Bruce karate-chops the air with all the power and martial arts accuracy of an eight year old. He runs ahead of the three adults in childhood glee, but keeps a watchful eye on them. He was still too shy to go too far on his own. 

Martha’s pearls glint in the street lamps of Park Row and Jason was sure the white streak in his slicked-back hair was just as visible. 

Jason takes in a deep breath as they come to a quite literal fork in the road. The gap between Gotham's rich and poor was a wide one, but with the Wayne's funding, it grew just that little bit less each day. Jason wasn't poor by any means, he'd simply been alive far too long for that, but he also couldn't buy an entire company just to improve the workplace health and safety guidelines like the Wayne's could. What they were doing was good. They were good people. Jason aided and advised them in as many magical aspects of Gotham as he could, but lately, he'd simply been enjoying their company.  _And their bedroom company,_ Etrigan adds, gloating.

“This is where I bid you goodnight,” Jason says, gripping Thomas’ hand with the strength and confident familiarity of a best friend. 

“Are you sure you won’t spend the night with us?” Martha asks. A blush warms her cheeks against the chill air as Jason presses a soft kiss to the top of her hand.

“Not all of us have a butler to do the dishes.” Jason beams a toothy grin that causes both of the Wayne's to catch their breath, “I’d say goodbye to little Bruce, but he seems…”

“Preoccupied?” Martha offers. All three smile warmly at the little boy who was reciting an iconic scene from the movie, using the different voices Alfred had taught him.

“Enjoy your walk with Bruce,” Jason says, giving them both a polite nod before turning on his heel.

“Have to work those calories off, somehow,” Thomas calls, pushing his stomach out and giving it a few gentle pats to illustrate his point.

Jason barks out a laugh and tosses a hand up in the air to wave goodbye. 

His shoes click softly on the uneven cobblestone pavement as he meanders back to his simple residence in Gotham. The water feature that marked the end of the richer parts of Gotham trickles softly in the quiet and Jason pauses, staring at the moon reflected in the ripples.

_ This is fleeting beauty and nothing to see. Hurry home, before we freeze,  _ Etrigan whines. 

_ You know, ‘please’ rhymes with ‘freeze’, _ Jason argues, but moves on nevertheless. It wasn’t late by any means and the birds were still cooing softly to their chicks despite the darkness consuming the city. Jason checks his watch - an antique now, but in its time, a masterpiece - and hums to himself a tune he is sure was lost to the centuries.

The breeze changes direction and the ruffle of leaves in trees objecting to it causes Etrigan to perk up. That’s when the smell of rich, thick blood hits Jason’s, or rather, Etrigan’s nostrils.

_ Trouble in the air, best to retreat to our lair, _ Etrigan advises, but the rest of his rhyme is cut short as recognition of a familiar scent fills both of their minds. The same aroma as Thomas Wayne laughed and told his wife not to worry about a little papercut, as Martha smiled and kissed her husband’s cheek as he bandaged a cut from cooking in the kitchen with Alfred. 

“Something’s wrong,” Jason says, as if saying it out loud will confirm his suspicions or ease the feeling of dread in his gut. It doesn’t. Fear, or is it unashamed curiosity and blood-lust, drives him towards the scent. He passes the trees, now empty of cooing birds, the water feature, the fork in the road. With each familiar landmark his denial of what his experience of centuries of life already knew to be true increases. Lightning splits the skyline of Gotham in two, not a rarity in this rainy city, but Jason growls at the inconvenience of the rain on his gelled hair and the dampening of his coat. For a moment he fears he’s lost the scent to the climax of new smells the rain brings, but there is no mistaking it now. 

Jason holds his breath for an impossibly long time as he takes in the scene, any other human would have passed out or died by now, but Etrigan pushes his magic through his host’s bloodstream. The street-lamp’s warm glow turns cold as it reflects in the pools of blood wetting little Bruce’s trousers where he knelt; wetting the Wayne’s clothes. No, no. It wasn’t wetting them - it was  _ coming from them. _ Rage grows in both Etrigan and Jason simultaneously and he can feel his very cells rewriting themselves into something demonic. He covers his mouth with a hand that couldn’t quite decide whether to sprout claws or not to stop himself from letting out a scream of rage - or grief, he wasn’t sure - and runs. 

_ Enough running, you cowardly man! Let the murderer face the fires of Etrigan! _ The Demon roars, and his deep voice rebounds inside Jason’s head. 

Jason grimaces, and holds his ears in pain as Etrigan commands to be in control, to find the Wayne’s killer, threatening to kill Jason himself if he didn’t let him.  _ For Bruce, _ he insists.

“No! No. Y-you won’t. You never-- you won’t stop once you start!” Jason objects. He’s sure someone will call the police on a madman in the streets of Gotham shouting at himself. No, he thinks morbidly to himself, they’re far too distracted at the moment.

_ For the child, Jason! _

He can feel Etrigan’s greedy hands wrapping themselves around his soul and forcing it into submission. 

“No!” Jason cries and pushes himself into the front once again to claim control. 

He falls to his knees weakly and rests his head in his hands, rocking himself softly as he sorts through the thoughts in his head: 

you’ve seen so much bloodshed, been the cause of so much death, why does it always hurt you so much, Jason? 

Why didn’t you walk with them? 

Why didn’t you hug them goodbye? 

Why didn’t you save them, Jason? 

You can never save the people you love. 

**Did you love the Wayne’s, Jason Blood?**

The question hangs in the air and turns it sour. Jason gags and spits out a mixture of blood and bile - his body was objecting to the strong demonic presence during his and Etrigan’s power struggle. Ugly, angry, tears pour down his cheeks. Such pure, unselfish emotion burns the Demon and he retreats to the corner of Jason’s mind that not even Jason dared to venture into. Perhaps Etrigan was upset, too. 

“No more death tonight. For _ Bruce _ , Etrigan,” Jason declares. For once, Etrigan has nothing to say. 

There would never be something special about the nights people died. However, that night would burn itself into Etrigan and Jason’s memories worse than the most blessed of holy water.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i took the title from Hamilton I'm awful,,


End file.
